


Of Two Minds

by Tobalerone



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Depression, Dissociation, Hallucinations, Heavy Angst, Horcrux merging, Identity confusion, M/M, Mood Swings, Power Imbalance, Psychological Dependency, Psychological Horror, Self-Hatred, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, losing touch with reality, loss of self
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 12:39:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8162350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tobalerone/pseuds/Tobalerone
Summary: The longer the locket hangs on his neck, the heavier it feels, the more difficult it is to separate dreams and reality. He hears the Horcrux whisper in his mind day and night, without a pause for breath. These feelings, urges, the coldness... are they Voldemort's, or his own? He's not too sure he can tell the difference between the two of them anymore.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [YumeNoTsuzuki (Yumejin)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yumejin/pseuds/YumeNoTsuzuki) in the [HarryMort_Prompt_Night](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/HarryMort_Prompt_Night) collection. 



_You're better than them, Harry. Special. Those useless mudbloods could never compare…_

"Harry, are you OK?" Hermione asked, putting a gentle hand on his arm.

Harry blinked, disoriented, a flash of disgust overcoming him at her touch for one surreal moment. Then the feeling was gone, though the whispers remained.

_How dare she put her filthy hands…_

He smiled, weakly. It was really more of a grimace.

“Yeah, sorry,” he mumbled, rubbing tiredly at his tingling scar. It always tingled—but never hurt, oddly enough, just sort of buzzed— when he wore the Locket.

She watched him worriedly, doubtfully, hand lingering. His temper surged, and suddenly, irrationally, he was angry.

“I said I was fine, Hermione!” he snapped, harshly yanking his arm away from her.

_They never listen to you, Harry, do they? They don’t understand…_

Hermione’s eyes, already red rimmed from crying, filled with hurt, and guilt washed over him. She hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Sorry,” he repeated, the apology seeming to fight him tooth and nail, despite feeling genuine remorse.

“It’s OK,” she gave a strained smile, “is it because Ron left?”

While Ron’s leaving certainly hadn’t made anything better, it was not what was bothering Harry. Not even close.

Harry was bothered by the fact that each night he went to sleep, he was plagued by disturbingly lucid dreams—memories that he knew, logically, were not his own, but that felt so familiar and so intimate that he often thought that they were.

He was bothered by the fact that whispers haunted him day and night, companionable and honey-sweet at times, yet manic and chilling at others—a constant dialogue, for his ears alone.

And that, with each day that passed, they got harder and harder to ignore.

But, most of all, he was bothered by the foreign feelings and urges that sometimes overcame him.

 They scared him, terrified him—because one day, he worried, he might act on them.

But he couldn’t tell Hermione that. She wouldn’t understand, and he didn’t want to explain.

_Of course she wouldn’t, Harry. Only I can understand…_

So, instead, he did the only thing he felt he could do. He looked her in the eyes, and lied through his teeth.

“Yeah.”

It was disturbingly easy.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prompt fill. Who knows when I'll update it.  
> Comment please :)


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